


bunny things

by lucyswriting



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pet Store, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Mutual Pining, it's actually an animal shelter tho, there's a dick joke but it's.......very small, very minor Octavia/Finn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyswriting/pseuds/lucyswriting
Summary: written for bffnet - prompt: “What do you mean we can’t buy ten turtles the landlord said small pets were okay"for thejonderettegirlRecently settled in their new Brooklyn apartment, the Blake siblings visit an animal sanctuary in hopes of finding a pet to make them feel a little bit more at home in a new city. While their idea of what constitutes as a reasonable number of small domestic animals to keep is, Bellamy isn't too unhappy to get help from a petite blonde shelter clerk.





	bunny things

Happy Tails Animal Sanctuary is not the place Bellamy Blake wanted to spend his Saturday - especially since it’s the first free Saturday he’s had since moving to New York. Octavia and him had finally got their new apartment sorted out: his books were on the shelves; her photos were pinned up; all of their boxes were unpacked. It was supposed to be a Saturday where they could finally relax and explore the city together. Or, at least, Bellamy could explore the city - he didn’t really care what O got up to as long as she stayed out of trouble. He had hoped to go to the Natural History Museum or maybe even the MOMA - get all of his urban adventuring done before the start of the semester - but instead of doing any of that, his sister had decided it would be a good day to go pet shopping.

“What do you mean we can’t buy ten turtles?” Octavia says, turning away from the terrarium to frown at him. Her hand hangs loosely over the edge of the glass-paneled enclosure, and Bellamy has to dig his fingers into his biceps to keep from reaching out to pull her back. “The landlord said small pets were okay," she adds as she turns her attention back to the small reptiles paddling through the water.

“O,” Bellamy groans, lifting a hand to rake it over his face as Octavia dips her fingers into the water. Seeing this - just as his fingertips clear his eyes - Bellamy raises his free hand to swat at his sister, who easily dodges the gesture by shifting from one foot to the other. “Don’t do that,” he whispers in a strained whine, sliding the hand on his face back and forth along his jaw. Octavia doesn’t even look up - just smirks a little as she continues to tap the surface of the water - and Bellamy’s brow furrows.

Crossing his arms over his chest once more, Bellamy continues with what is intended to be a much firmer reprimand. “O, we can’t buy ten turtles because -”

“Unless you’re living in an uptown mansion,” someone interrupts, and Bellamy’s mouth hangs open around a word that never forms. Turning to look down the aisle, his brows lift as his gaze lands on a petite blonde wearing a t-shirt bearing the store’s logo. “There’s no way you have a tank that big,” she finishes after a beat, and Bellamy’s mouth closes as he swings his head back toward his sister. 

See? He says with a wiggle of his brow. Octavia - looking quickly back and forth between her brother and the stranger - slowly retracts her hand from the turtle habitat.

“For ten turtles, the tank would probably take up half the apartment,” the blonde adds.

“More than half,” Bellamy agrees gruffly, though his lip curls in an obvious smirk.  
Octavia - glaring back at him - places one hand on her hip and uses the other to twist her ponytail, huffing an annoyed breath that clears the dark strands from her face. Moving toward Bellamy, she knows her elbow against his ribs and crinkles her nose as she looks up at him. “You’re no fun,” she mumbles before turning her attention immediately to the girl at the end of the aisle. “Can you help us?”

“O, we don’t need -” 

“Sure.”

Bellamy’s frown returns. Turning back to the pet shop employee, he intends to give her some sort of variation of thanks but no thanks but as his eyes land on her face he realizes she’s come closer - and, up close, she’s really cute. The blonde crosses her own arms - mirroring Bellamy’s stance - and Bellamy’s eyes sink to observe the gesture and, by virtue, her chest. It’s only a second long glance, but it’s enough to make Bellamy’s mouth go dry as his face heats. He makes a show of dragging his eyes over to her nametag and lingering on it as if that was what he was looking at all along. Then, quickly, he looks back to her face.

“Small apartment?” Clarke asks, brows raised as she looks from him to Octavia and then back to him. 

Unfolding his arms, Bellamy swallows and raises one hand to the back of his head. “Not that small,” he half-grumbles as he drags his fingers down through his hair and hooks them over the back of his neck.

“It’s tiny,” Octavia chirps through a giggle, elbowing Bellamy once more before all but bouncing over to Clarke. Lifting her hand from her hip, she flaps it vaguely in Bellamy’s direction as she flashes Clarke a grin. “You can ignore my brother - he’s more wet blanket than human,” she says, and Bellamy’s face scrunches into an annoyed frown as he darts both hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Octavia looks back at him after a beat and adds, “But I guess he’s cool because he agreed to buy me some pets, didn’t ya Bell?”

“A pet,” Bellamy corrects, though his face softens visibly as he looks at Octavia.

“A pet or two,” Octavia quips. Bellamy snorts. Clarke laughs.

“Glad we’re all on the same page,” Clarke says, unfolding her arms so she can press her hands together. “Now - how do you guys feel about mice?”

* * *

The Blake siblings aren’t like the other well-meaning Brooklynites that come into the shelter, and - as far as Clarke is concerned - that’s for the better.

“Bushwick probably has enough - we don’t need to add any more,” comments Bellamy, and Clarke cracks a smile as she watches him grimace at the rat in Octavia’s hand. They had nixed mice already - for all Octavia’s bluster, it turned out that she was scared of them after all - but she was handling the rat pretty well. Stroking its skull, Octavia extends the creature toward her brother, the rat’s tail flicking and darting as Octavia shifts its hindquarters.

“Just try holding it,” she says, and Clarke - hands cupped beneath Octavia’s - turns to look up at Bellamy just in time to see his scowl dip into something more frightened and possibly nauseated. Tugging her bottom lip back between her teeth, Clarke’s hands dart to take the rat from Octavia, pulling it toward herself just as Bellamy takes a visible step back from the creature. Clarke clears her throat.

“Octavia, why don’t you go check out the birds...I think there’s some food over there if you feel like feeding them.”

Any offense Octavia had taken to having the rat removed from her hands fades fast.

“Okay!” She agrees before all but scampering over to the back wall, which is covered in cages filled with birds of all shapes and sizes.

Smiling - mostly to herself - Clarke moves back toward the cage they’d taken the rat from and bends over to put him back inside.

“Thanks,” Bellamy’s voice - low and gravelly - comes from behind her, causing an inexplicable warmth to creep up beneath Clarke’s skin. Latching the cage door closed, Clarke palms her thighs as she straightens once more, turning fully back to Bellamy before offering him a shrug.

“Rats aren’t my favorite either,” she admits as she meets his gaze, the corner of her lip quirked tentatively. Around his sister and a few dozen rodents, Bellamy Blake doesn’t cut a particularly intimidating figure, but up close and alone with him is an entirely different story. He can’t be too much older than her - Clarke thinks that Octavia seems to be about her age, maybe a year or two younger - but he’s tall and broad and handsome, kind of snarky and much more stoic than the guy who rolls his eyes and grins at everything his little sister says and does.

“Maybe, um -” Clarke starts, distractedly lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear as she glances from him over toward the register and desktop. “We could check inventory - talk about what you think would be best?”

Clarke looks back to Bellamy. “Cool,” he answers, offering nothing more than the word and a bob of his head. Pursing her lips in a tight smile, Clarke nods, too, and turns to make her way over to the counter. Sliding onto the barstool set in front of the computer, Clarke fixes her gaze on the screen even as Bellamy comes up beside her, warmth radiating from his body to hers.

A beat of silence passes between them before Clarke abruptly asks, “So...no rodents.”

“No rodents,” Bellamy agrees, and Clarke is pleased to hear what sounds like a smile in his voice. Reaching for the computer mouse, Clarke begins to scroll idly through the sanctuary catalog, which details all the available animals. Across the shop, Octavia lets out a little squeal as a bird pecks sharply as her fingertips. Clarke glances at this and then glances quickly at Bellamy.

“Maybe no birds either,” he adds with a chuckle before extending a hand to the counter so he is leaning over her shoulder. Logically, Clarke knows it’s just to read the screen. That, however, doesn’t stop her gaze from tracing the muscles of Bellamy’s locked forearm and lingering on the vein-webbed back of his hand. Slowly - too slowly - she turns her attention back to the screen.

* * *

Bellamy isn’t 100% certain why Clarke works here, but he’s happy she does. Though there are other employees and volunteers roaming around - a few approach Octavia, to no avail - Clarke is clearly the most adept, and is definitely the kind of person Bellamy prefers to deal with. She takes her job seriously (but not too seriously) and has a sense of humor that matches his. She knows how to handle his sister, too, which is always a plus. Most of all, though, she just knows what she’s talking about, and not much gets past her.

“First-time pet owners, huh?” She asks just as they decide against any and all chinchillas up for adoption in the area. Blinking, Bellamy turns his face to hers and offers a slow, sheepish smile as he adjusts his grip on the counter’s corner, shoulders rolling as he does it.

“That obvious?” he asks, hooking his teeth on the outer edge of his lower lip and chewing it as he turns to glance back at Octavia, who has moved from the birds to the cats. “First time everything, honestly,” he admits after a beat, his eyes lingering on the brunette boy who hefts a cat into Octavia’s lap before he suddenly turns back to Clarke. “We just moved here.”

“Ah,” Clarke answers with a nod, eyes sliding obviously to the side as if she’s been looking at Bellamy’s neck and jaw for an extended period of time. Bellamy sort of hopes she has, but he, too, averts his gaze.

“Well you better hold onto that place,” she adds after a moment, and when Bellamy looks back at her, she’s lifted her gaze to meet his once more. Her eyes are a clear, bright blue that remind him of the world he misses beyond New York - the home that he and Octavia left behind. “Landlords with fewer stipulations than pets being ‘small’ are hard to find.”

Bellamy’s brows lift marginally, but if Clarke has anything else to say, she keeps it to herself as she turns back to the computer. Pushing off of the counter, Bellamy stands upright but steps in closer to Clarke, sweeping his fingers along the edge and turning so he is facing her rather than leaning over her. She looks up at him briefly - maybe crossly? - before her attention shifts back to the computer page in front of her.

“Do you have any pets?” Bellamy asks, tapping his fingers lightly on the countertop before drawing his hand back and shoving it in his pocket. Clarke tips her face up at this, her eyes widened slightly as they meet his.

“I had a dog, but he died,” she answers, and a wince flickers across Bellamy’s features. Before he has the chance to apologize, though, Clarke is already smoothing things over. “Then I moved to a new apartment that doesn’t allow pets so…” She shrugs, goes back to scanning the web page. Bellamy shifts from foot to foot.

“So that’s why you work here?”

This time, Clarke lifts her head fully, the movement of her hands over the mouse and keys finally gone still. Behind him, Bellamy can hear Octavia’s baby speak to some animal or another, but it’s Clarke Griffin who holds all of his attention now. He hadn’t meant to level those words as a challenge or a judgment, but they came out just so anyway, and Bellamy is too curious to take them back. A long beat passes between them, and Bellamy’s heart ticks up with each second of it, fear that he’s somehow insulted her making his blood run fast in his veins. Eventually, though, Clarke draws her hands into her lap and sits back from the desktop slightly, a wry smirk blooming slowly on her lips.

* * *

“Gotta pay tuition somehow,” is Clarke’s initial answer, though she takes the slackening of Bellamy Blake’s jaw as a sign to quickly continue. “I’m at NYU for Studio Art,” she explains, cheeks flushing with an even mix of pride and embarrassment. Reaching to her left, Clarke plucks up the worn notebook she’s set to that side and brings it between the two of them, tossing back the cover to reveal a number of pencil and charcoal sketches, almost all of animals. Looking down at them, Clarke smiles faintly, bringing her free hand up to brush over the detailed drawings. “Working here is like having a never-ending supply of models.”

When Clarke lifts her head to look up at Bellamy Blake, she is surprised and flattered to see that he is looking carefully, considerately at her art. These, of course, are nothing compared to what she can do in the studio - but she takes it as an unvoiced compliment nonetheless. Without a word, Bellamy reaches for the notebook and begins turning the pages on his own, and Clarke gives in maybe a little too enthusiastically, her eyes sweeping over his form as he takes the time to observes those which she’d already drawn.

Clarke thinks, distantly, that there is probably a line in here somewhere about asking him to model for her. On one hand, yes, he is obviously attractive. But on the other hand - his features are just interesting. Between the freckles and the sharp contours of his face and the weight of his curls, there are a great many details that Clarke thinks she might like to etch out - with a pen or her fingers...whichever.

Her brain is so fogged by this concept, in fact, that she’s a little late to stop him from getting to the deeper section of her notebook, where she’s kept sketches of her last girlfriend and a few from the fling she had with a certain long-haired male employee who has just started showing Octavia the ferrets.

“Uh,” she starts when her eyes flit down to the page and she realizes, face heating. Reaching out, Clarke all but slaps her right hand over the images as her left darts to grab the notebooks edge and close it. Above her, Bellamy laughs.

“And here I’d thought I’d impress you by talking about being a TA at Columbia,” he comments dryly, drawing Clarke’s attention up despite her distraction with the notebook. She meets his dark eyes with darted brows, a conscious grin drawn across her face.

“You wanted to impress me?” She asks, tugging the notebook back and setting it in her lap, her palm pressing the use-smoothed cover. 

The corner of Bellamy’s mouth lifts slightly, but beyond that, he gives nothing away as he replies, “Wanted to see if I could.”

Their gazes narrow simultaneously, and if Clarke isn’t mistaken, Bellamy’s weight sways slightly towards her, his head hanging lower than it would if he weren’t leaning in. There is a retort - fast and cutting but sensitive, bold; not at all appropriate to be said from an employee to a customer - on the tip of her tongue as Clarke feels something electric pass between them. 

But the second Clarke opens her mouth to play with the words, Octavia’s voice rings through the shop.

“Bell, I found her!”

* * *

Bellamy doesn’t know what Clarke is going to say, but he is hanging on to hear it. There is something tightly wound in him now; something he can’t really explain. This girl in the Happy Tails shirt and the hole-ridden jeans, with golden blonde hair and fiercely blue eyes, a notebook full of sketches at her fingertips - there is something there. There is something that demands his attention, that he is fascinated by, that he wants to give into. 

It’s the reason he has remained close to her even with some other jackass employee flirting with his sister. It’s the reason he’d stayed in the store at all, after the turtle and the rat and the incessant chirping of the birds. It’s a reason to like New York, even - how her eyes are a kind of California sky blue in all of this concrete - a reason to stay. To want to stay. To want to hear what she has to say.

As close as he keeps his cards to his chest - wanted to see if I could - he knows that all it would take is one more challenge to crack him. He’s ready for it though - more ready for it than he’s been for anything in New York so far. What will come from that fissure, Bellamy doesn’t yet know. But he’s eager to find out.

He can see her gears turning. The words forming, processing. Her lips part.

“Bell, I found her!”

I know, he thinks as Clarke’s gaze breaks from his. Me too.

Bellamy’s head snaps in the direction his sister calls from. Octavia, bow-legged and beaming, holds up what might as well be a ball of fur between her hands. He blinks, squints, frowns.

It’s a bunny.

“Princess,” says Clarke.

“Princess?” Bellamy asks, turning his attention back to the girl at his side. The word comes out raw honey sweet, a rumble low in his throat that is decidedly not aimed any which way. His eyes sink below hers, watching as she sets her notebook off to the side.

“The bunny,” Clarke answers, jerking her chin back toward Octavia as she slides off the stool to stand. Bellamy, heart thudding, steps out of her way.

“Right,” he says, lifting a hand to push his curls back from his eyes as he turns his attention over to his sister. “Yeah.”

* * *

Octavia holds the bunny all through the process of Clarke explaining bunny caretaking and helping them pick out a cage. Octavia, for her part, only half listens, but it’s well enough because Bellamy seems completely locked in on whatever it is Clarke is explaining. Stroking the rabbit’s ears, Octavia wears an easy smile as the two of them pace through the aisles, going back and forth over what kind of habitat or food or toys Princess needs.

Octavia is fairly certain she’ll rename the creature, but it’s definitely amusing to hear her brother use the name so seriously when arguing with Clarke about whether or not Princess needs space to roam the house.

“Is that so, Princess?” Bellamy rumbles, presumably to the rabbit, though he doesn’t look away from Clarke as he says it. Clarke scoffs. Octavia just silently laughs.

Soon enough they are at the counter, signing the adoption papers, paying the fees, bagging all the random crap they bought. Bellamy gnaws at his bottom lip, Clarke keeps prattling off information that they can probably find on the internet, and they go back and forth over everything a dozen more times. Bellamy is obviously agitated, and Clarke is more subdued than she’s been all day. It occurs to Octavia slowly that they seem to be dragging this out.

Cradling her bunny close to her chest, Octavia waits until Clarke is folding the adoption papers and tucking them into an envelope for them before she says, “Thanks, Clarke.”

Clarke looks up at her, wearing an expression as if she doesn’t recognize Octavia at all. She adjusts quickly, smiling in a distracted way as she brings the envelope up and tucks it into the bulky shopping bags. “Yeah, of course,” she says as she pushes the bags toward them. “Come back anytime.”

Octavia glances between Clarke and her brother. Clarke stares at the countertop. Bellamy stares at the floor. After a long beat, Clarke looks up at Octavia and asks, “Do you want a box to carry the rabbit home in?”

Octavia shakes her head. “Nah, we live pretty close to here -” pausing, she steps closer to her brother and nudges him in the side. “Don’t we Bell?”

For the first time in many moments, Bellamy Blake lifts his head. “Yeah,” he answers, glancing quickly at Clarke before glancing away. “Yeah, we do.”

“Stop by anytime,” Clarke repeats, her tone almost autonomic. She stares at Bellamy, but not quite at his face. Octavia has to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“Hey Bell,” Octavia charges ahead, adjusting her grip on the bunny that has begun to squirm in her arms. “Didn’t you wanna go to the MOMA earlier today?”

Bellamy sighs, some of his usual exasperation returning. “Yeah.”

Octavia smirks. “Maybe you could head over there now.”

“It’s closed,” Clarke and Bellamy say in unison, drawing an abrupt burst of laughter from Octavia. When her eyes flit open again, the pair of them are staring at one another, surprise etched on their faces.

“Sounds like something to do tomorrow - if you’re free,” Octavia says, adding the last part to Clarke and tossing a wink in for effect. Turning slightly, she peers up at Bellamy and adds, “And you should get her number - for bunny things.” Bellamy gapes at her like a fish from water, but Octavia starts to move before he - either of them, really - have a chance to draw her back in again.

“C’mon Princess,” Octavia mutters to the bundle of fur in her arms, turning toward the door and moving toward it. “Let’s get you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> kudos are love but comments are life ;) 
> 
> please let me know if you'd like to see a continuation/something else in this verse!


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